


wait, who are you again?

by malevon



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Divergence, Drama, F/M, gratuitous use of touch as a narrative device, tearful reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23522884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malevon/pseuds/malevon
Summary: byleth comes out the other side of the timeskip slightly different. claude almost shoots her with his bow. it’s romantic.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 9
Kudos: 88





	wait, who are you again?

**Author's Note:**

> so when 3h was first being advertised and we saw the different colors of Byleth’s hair, I thought for the longest time that blue hair was for pre-timeskip and green was for post. here’s a little fic based on that premise!

And when she falls, it is not graceful. 

When she lands, it is even less so.

::

_ Sothis? _

::

_ Are you there?  _

::

_ Is anyone there? _

::

_ Sothis? _

_ Dad? _

_ Rhea? _

_ Claude? _

::

What a situation you have gotten yourself into, little one.

_ Sothis! _

Do not act surprised to see me. You’ve done this to yourself, and I have been spending my energy trying to keep your vessel alive.

_...Alive? Sothis, did I die? _

Well,  _ yes,  _ you fool. You fell into a chasm. What did you expect, running into the fray to defend that woman like that? You -

_ How do I get back? _

Get back?

_ Yes, yes, get back. The Imperial army was storming the monastery, I have to return. My students were there, they were - _

Byleth. 

_ Just wind back the clock. You’ve done it before, when I was about to die. Do it again, Sothis, I have to - _

_ Byleth.  _ I granted that power to  _ you.  _ I have no discretion over that anymore. The only thing I can do now is, like I said moments ago, keep your vessel alive. And maybe someone will find you.

_ Maybe?! No, no, Sothis, I have to get back. I can’t bet on one of the few, few people I trust there  _ maybe  _ finding me. I have to do this myself. Please. There has to be something else you can do. Please. _

While it does feel nice to have a mortal beg at my feet, it would take a miracle.

_ You’re a goddess. You do things like that. _

::

_ Sothis? _

::

_ Sothis. Please. Please don’t leave me alone here again. _

::

_ They need me.  _

::

_ He needs me. _

::

You’re right, Byleth.

_ What? _

It would take a miracle. It would take a goddess.

_ What? _

Your body will need time to adjust to this. I don’t know how long it will be. I don’t know how long it already has been.

_ Time to adjust - Sothis, what are you doing?  _

You’re right. They do need you. Please, make things right where I couldn’t.

_ Sothis - _

::

When she wakes up, it is not graceful.

::

Feeling returns to Byleth slowly, but she sits up as soon as she’s able, only to realize that she is  _ wet.  _ Her legs are submerged in the river she must have drifted down, but as her eyes adjust to the light, light, light, something she hasn’t seen in what feels like years, she recognizes the small buildings. She’s near a town not far from the monastery. She launches to her feet, only to find her muscles incredibly sore, and if her mind was clearer, if it had more than one track, she’d realize that they are sore from disuse. 

She doesn’t have a weapon. She doesn’t know where the Sword landed. She doesn’t care - she’ll fight with anything she can get her hands on at this point. Byleth uses the trees along the pathway as crutches, and when she inevitably stops to take a breath - when has she been so frail? - she almost leaps backwards at the green mass at her waist.

It’s - her  _ hair? _

She reaches up a hand to feel her locks, only to find them filthy and matted and long and  _ green.  _ She is also hit with the sensation, she realizes as her fingers get caught in the knots, that her nails have reached an  _ ungodly  _ length. She stares at her hands. The tendons are visible. 

Realizations hit her in a fierce barrage, and as quickly as she can with her sore muscles and racing mind, she makes her way to Garreg Mach. 

The trek is not an easy one. There’s rubble littering the ground from the fight, and the plants that have overtaken the piles of rock grow tall and untamed. Sothis had said… she said said it would take time for her body to adjust. Time, time, time, everywhere she looked were signs of the time passing. Her hair fell down to her waist, and Byleth had to drink straight from a passing stream to wash the taste of the days from her mouth. She bit at her nails until her fingers and gums bled, trying to distract herself from the thoughts in her mind. Where were her students, where were her people? She hadn’t seen any signs of life, not a single postman, not a messenger or a trader along the road to the monastery. The only thing that she had seen that even seemed to be a  _ twinge  _ recent was a pile of wyvern droppings. 

Byleth stopped again at the foot of the stairway to the academy. She was panting, her stomach finally realizing how hungry it was, her limbs realizing that they have been sorely out of practice for… they don’t know how long. Byleth doesn’t know how long. But as she stares at the massive, crumbled building at the top of the shallow hill, noting the ivy growing up the walls and where it creeps into the rooms themselves where bricks have fallen away, a rock sinks in her chest. The only thing that seems to be miraculously untouched by time is the Goddess Tower.

Byleth takes a breath, and then another. She has to know. She has to know how long she’s been gone.

She weakly grabs a sword from one of the nearby piles of rubble - how long had it been since a hand had held this? - and, one step after another, begins to climb.

::

One step at a time, Claude hears the sound of a newcomer behind him, and, hopefully, he turns. 

::

He’s bathed in light when she first sees him. She stays towards the shadows, almost hiding, but she immediately drops the sword she had been less wielding than dragging, and the sudden movement makes him draw his bow.

::

He watches the newcomer with sharp eyes, looking down the shaft of an arrow. “Who are you?”

::

“Claude,” she tries to say, but it is little more than a breath. Her voice is ragged. She hadn’t even thought about her voice. “Claude,” she says again, and she breathes heavily, her knees suddenly weak.

It’s him. Older. Older, broader, sharper, neater. Everything is different and also the same and -

::

He steps closer. He does not put down his bow.

::

“Claude,” she says, a third time, and she is pleading. Her knees finally give in, and he is not there to catch her. Her breath comes in heaves as she finally gets a solid idea of how long it’s been. He has a  _ beard, _ for goddess’ sake. “I -  _ Teach -”  _ she sputters around what she doesn’t know is a sob or laughter or just plain hyperventilation. She can’t take it.

All at once, she feels the weight of the world on her shoulders, and it is  _ crushing.  _

::

_ Teach. _

_ She said Teach. _

Claude drops his weapon and sprints over to where the woman is keeled over on the ground. He roughly puts his hands on her shoulders -  _ damn it, Riegan, have a little more class, she’s probably dying right now and you’re manhandling her  _ \- and steadies her. “How do you know Byleth? How do you know me?” he interrogates, loudly, so she can hear him.

She cranes her neck up. 

Stupidly, his first thought is that her eyes are a different color now.

All at once, he can feel the weight of the realization bash into him, and it is  _ crushing. _

:: 

She is gathered into Claude’s arms.

This is the second time she can remember crying. She cries for the time lost, the time she has been gone, she cries for whatever it is that she  _ is  _ now, she cries and cries even though she has no more tears left in her. 

The grip around her shoulders is tight, grounding. It’s the same grip that gently lead her away from her father’s body. It’s the same grip she felt on her left shoulder right before the battle. The battle that was only… only a day ago.

“ _ Where have you been? _ ” he asks, harshly, softly, quietly, loudly. “ _ What did she do to you, Teach? _ ”

His voice is shaking, and when she tries to speak through her breaths, hers isn’t much better.

“Sleeping,” she answers. “How long?”

She feels a hand move from around her shoulder blades to the back of her head, pulling her into him, further, deeper. It feels like sleeping. 

“Five years,” he says, and this time, his voice does not shake. It is  _ hollow.  _

She stops crying, stops breathing, pulls back to look at him. His gaze is nothing but emotion, his eyes hard, and Byleth faintly registers fingers combing through her hair.

“Five years,” he says again, and Byleth can only blink.

They stay like that for too many heartbeats to count. 

She stares at him.

::

He stares at her.

He doesn’t comprehend it. How could she have been sleeping? Where was she? Why does she look the way she does? Is this even Teach? No, no, it is. He’s sure of that. He’s sure of that because she’s the only person who has ever looked at him like she is now, with those eyes full of pride and wonder and, and maybe he’s giving himself too much credit on this one, it’s… it’s love. He wants it to be. He’s wanted it to be for so long. 

Claude von Reigan sighs, and, greedily, he pulls Byleth back into him and squeezes one last time. She’s never been this slight.

“Come on now,” he says, standing, helping her to her feet. “I brought some food. Let’s get you caught up.”


End file.
